Lucien Lachance's Day Out
by Quillweave
Summary: Lucien has a lovely evening with the Sirens of Anvil. Oneshot.


Lucien was having a nasty day, and all the wine in Anvil wasn't enough to cheer him.

In a bar that stank of cat piss and seas he crouched over the counter, nursing a bottle of Surlie's the hosts had no doubt dug up from some godforsaken hole in their basement. Lucien grimaced, almost able to taste the cobwebs barely swept off the bottle, but shrugged and took another sip. _Still alcohol._

_By Sithis_. He dragged his hand through his hair, lazily watching a rather nicely built Nord pass him by. Is this what he would be reduced to? Hiding in seedy taverns to enjoy himself, to escape that twig of a Bosmer's nagging?

_Not in hell_. He gave a tight-lipped smile, able to clearly recall Ungolim's shrill voice. _'You are hardly worthy of your position, Lachance. If you insist on acting like a child, I will treat you like one.' _Sent him all the way to Anvil just to meet with that pig Altmer, too...

As though the Bosmer did anything other than creep out of his hovel to speak to the Night Mother. Lucien frowned, gazing into the bottom of the bottle he'd quickly emptied. The fetcher hiding in a shack, while _he_ had been dealing with new recruits for weeks. Wide-eyed idiots caught in the passion of the moment, fools who would never get past the rank of Murderer. No chance to slit throats, no chance for bloodshed. Lucien stood, stamping dirt of his boots. No chance for _entertainment._

"Well, hello there."

Lucien turned at the lilting voice of an Imperial woman, an instinctive charming smile curving his lip. "Good evening, madame."

"No need to be formal, sweetie." Oh, she was enticing. Wide eyes fringed with soft lashes, a bow lip painted red and hair pulled into a tamed bun. She smiled, dark eyes glittering as she slid her manicured nails over his chest. "I'm just wondering why a man like you is all alone."

"It _is_ a bit quiet here, isn't it?" Lucien smirked. _I don't even speak to them, and they still flock to me_. "Shame, on such a lovely evening."

"Oh, it is." The woman simpered, lips pouting ever so slightly. "But it doesn't need to be."

Lucien chuckled, sliding his hand over hers. For some reason he could not fathom, women always took it as a romantic gesture. "And what would you propose?"

"A bit of fun." She grinned, crimson smile widening. "I own a little farmhouse not far from here. My friends and I... we are all a bit lonely, you see." She gave him doe-eyes, sliding her hand over his collar. "All of our husbands are seamen, and hardly worth waiting six months for. So..." She lowered her voice to a sultry murmur. "Perhaps you could help us - _cheer up_?"

"It would be my utmost pleasure." Lucien used his silver tongue freely, moving his gaze over her body as he spoke. Beautifully made, silk clinging to soft curves, hips tilted towards him and breasts peeking out of her blouse. _Yes_, he decided, _I deserve a bit of a break. Ungolim be damned, I am going to enjoy myself._

The farmhouse wasn't far, as she had said. A quant little cottage with a straw-thatched roof and flowerboxes, nestled in the grasses of the gold coast. The moon showed it's face through wisps of clouds as she gestured for him to follow her inside, letting the already revealing curve of her blouse fall lower. Lucien had long ago found looks to be deceiving, and he felt no surprise upon seeing the silken bed and good wine laid out before him. _Poor thing._ He chuckled inside as she kindled the fire into life, treating himself to a bottle of Tamika's finest. _Desperate enough to spend good drakes on wine and aphrodisiacs._

"Let me just get my friends." She gave him a sweet smile, loosing her hair so it cascaded over her shoulders. She opened a small door, shouting. "Ladies, we have a guest!"

Lucien raised a brow. He had expected, perhaps, two other women at most. Not that he wasn't _delighted_ to see at least six altogether. All very pretty, and no doubt very pent up. A Khajit in the mix, but Lucien wasn't thrown off by that. A Nord approached him, scarlet hair bouncing as she moved.

"Welcome." She cooed, giving him a heavy-lidded gaze. "Please, make yourself more comfortable. No need for that heavy cloak with the fireplace burning."

It didn't take long for his cloak, boots, shirt and pants to all end up strewn across the floor. Lucien watched as one of the women lazily stretched over the bed, her shirt unbuttoned. She gave him a lingering smile before speaking.

"Well, ladies. He's naked. You know what to do."

Suddenly, he was no longer surrounded by half-dressed horny women. Rather, he was surrounded by half-dressed horny women with _daggers_. He arched a brow at his host, able to intimidate even naked.

"May I ask you to explain?"

"Simple, darling." She stood and moved to him, buttoning her shirt back up as her smile grew cruel. "You're naked, and helpless. We take every thing of value you have, and you leave unscathed. Refuse, and..." She slowed, sliding a finger over her lip. "Well, let's just say the guard will have difficulty finding the body of a lone man in the sea."

"A shame." Lucien said lightly, eyeing the women as they circled around him, blades drawn. "Such pretty women, only to end up _gutted_. Ah, well."

What was the Bretony expression? Minutes later Lucien surveyed the gore around him and remembered._ C'est la vie_. The carpet was soaking with blood, the woman given a taste of their own blades, eyes gazing blankly at nothing. Lucien smirked, slipping back into his clothes and stepped outside, breathing the night air deep and snickering. Well, he had been craving the chance for bloodshed. He hadn't expected to do it naked, but one way or the other...

His only regret was having to scrub the blood off his boots.


End file.
